


Face to Face

by Bliss_Smith



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/F, F/M, More angst, and sisterhood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 08:29:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15553707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bliss_Smith/pseuds/Bliss_Smith
Summary: Directly after Back to Back/Morrigan's ritual.  Face to face for some final conversation.





	Face to Face

She knows his sleep patterns as well as the sounds he makes when he dreams. She has an hour before he misses her warmth, before he drags himself up from sleep to find out why she isn't pressed against him.

  


Everyone is asleep, it seems; she passes no one on the way to the woods, where she knows she'll find her friend. There's a chance Morrigan may not be expecting her, but somehow Mistral is sure she's waiting. Impatiently, most likely.

  


She is, pacing in the moonlight while keeping an eye on the path. When Morrigan sees her, she stops, hands on her slim hips, looking like Leliana's bow and arrow come to life.

  


"I was wondering if I would be forced to come find you myself."

  


Mistral knew it wouldn't be easy, facing her again, but important things never are, she knows that. What she doesn't know is if she wants to kiss her or go back to throwing things at her. Since there really isn't anything to pick up she opts for kindness. That and looking anywhere but Morrigan's abdomen, where Alistair's baby is settling in.

  


"Thank you, Morrigan. For giving us a chance."

  


"I only wish I could give you more. That I could cast a spell to ensure nothing else kills you. Or takes him away from you."

  


Yes, that. They may have a guarantee the death blow won't kill whoever makes it, but that won't save them from any other well-timed blow or an ogre's grasp. They'll have to rely on skill for that. And luck, if they haven't drawn that account dry surviving and somehow thriving during the last year.

  


"Can you tell me everything now? Will you? I suppose that's the better question."

  


They make their way to the nearby fallen log because isn't that why they're in this particular spot? They've spent a lot of time on logs across Ferelden, always gravitating to them, somehow needing the feel of bark under their butts as they talk and share. When they're nothing but sisters under the skin, as opposite as to be a caricature but somehow still loving each other all the more for it.

  


"What is to tell, really? When the blight first started, Mother showed me the treaties and told me of the plan, that when the Wardens came to look for them, I was to go with them. That I was to pick the youngest, freshest one and make him fall in love with me."

  


Something passes over Morrigan's face as she talks, a shadow Mistral won't even guess at. Pain. Loss. A dream snatched, perhaps, and that thought makes her sadder. She never wanted to take anything away from her, even when she didn't like her.

  


"At any rate, when the two of you showed up looking for them, she changed the plan somewhat. She did not believe I stood a chance with him, not against you, and since his being the father was of the utmost importance, the better plan was to wait for your inevitable romance. To help foster it, if I saw a way."

  


"Like constantly belittling us to make us more protective of each other?" She tries to keep the venom out of her mouth and mostly succeeds.

  


"'Twas an easy enough way, considering our personalities."

  


She wants to argue but won't waste the time. They've long since hashed out all the personality conflicts, and she doesn't want to waste what little time she has left. "Is there any way I can talk you into staying? You have my word we won't try to interfere, in any way. I'm just not ready to say goodbye to you. I'm tired of losing the people I love."

  


Morrigan leans down to press her forehead against Mistral’s temple. "If you make me cry again, it will finally be frog time."

  


She doesn't need to see the smile to know it's there. The tears, either. She tries to find something to say and can't. _Thank you_ and _I love you_ have both been said. Anything else is unnecessary.

  


"Go back to your King, my sister, before he comes looking for you. While our time together was far more enjoyable than I ever would have imagined, he and I have still seen quite enough of each other for the night."

  


It's not as hard to walk away from her as it was her parents, but it's close.

  


~*~

  


She's not surprised to find him awake, his arm tucked under his head and a soft look on his face.

  


"You two have a good talk?"

  


She wants to ask how he knows, but she doesn't need to. He knows because he knows her, as deeply, as intimately as it's possible to know another person. The same way she knows him.

  


"Good enough. We were able to end things with love instead of anger. Can't really ask for much more than that." She strips down as she talks and crawls back under the covers with him, burrowing into his warmth, into the security of his arms around her.

  


"What do you need, my love?"

  


She thinks about it, about her options. Getting drunk would be a fine choice, if not for tomorrow's looming and sure to be brutal battle. Climbing on top and riding him until they're exhausted would be as well, but she knows they're both a little too emotionally raw for that. She knows the specter of what he did with Morrigan will hang over them like a stone.

  


Unless maybe they can perform a little blood magic of their own.

  


"How about our own magic ritual?" She turns over to look up at him, to watch him smile down at her.

  


"Wouldn't one of us need to be a mage for that?"

  


Which isn't a no, is it? "Who needs a mage when we have my determination and your templar skills?"

  


He grins down at her, lighter than she's seen in days. "Like we'll need anything more than your determination."

  


  


~*~

  


They aren't serious about it, not really, but at the same time they are. As serious as they've ever been with each other, really.

  


But they are who they are and can't do serious without equal parts silly and sexy. Heart, heat, humor—everything the world needs to know about them in three simple words.

  


Some parts are easy to figure out. Trace the still red scars on their chests with her knife and catch the blood in a small vial of lyrium. Add some of the tears that always fall as they rock their bodies together. Top it off with a drop of what drips down her thigh, the combination of them that looks like liquid pearls and smells like life.

  


Hold the vial between their palms, strong, calloused shield hands pressed together and wrapped around with the ribbon from her hair, the one that's come to symbolize how they are inextricably tied to each other.

  


Say the words, speak the invocation of her determination, the implacable truth of their commitment. Whisper it to the air around them, cry it into each other's mouths as she rocks on his lap, as he thrusts up into her, trying to reach all the way to her heart.

  


And when the air changes and they think Someone just might be listening, offer up the vial. Offer anything, everything, for the simple guarantee of an after together.

**Author's Note:**

> Too little sleep and too much brain fog, but I'm determined to keep myself on a weekly schedule. Another one I'll probably tool on at some point in time.


End file.
